


Depersonalisation

by CollyWobbleKiwi



Category: Feng Yu Jiu Tian
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-16
Updated: 2011-10-16
Packaged: 2017-10-24 17:17:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/265940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CollyWobbleKiwi/pseuds/CollyWobbleKiwi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a fantasy tale in the making but in the dead of night Feng Ming can't shake the displacement of being a soul in someone else's body.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Depersonalisation

**Author's Note:**

> My knowledge of the wonderful FYJT Novel Series is limited solely to the translation of volume 1 by the wonderful Sookybabi and anything else I've managed to find on the web in english/google-translate to spoil myself...and by spoil I mean feed myself tidbits that have me salivating over the rest of the 26 volumes in the series so far. I wish I could read Chinese *Sob*. So this is hardly accurate to the series and probably severely out of character. That still didn't stop this bunny from biting me at arse-am and demanding I write it. What was the point of this note? Oh yeah: Please forgive me anybody who has read the series for how OOC this is likely to be.

Feng Ming can’t remember his face anymore. No, not the face he has now, not An He’s face; beautiful, doe eyed with red lips and a smooth brow but the face he had before all of this, before a young boy in the street, a truck and a sorcerer with the face of a middle-aged father. An He’s face stares back at him from the polished metal mirrors that give a blurred and inaccurate reflection, from the water in his cup if he angles it right and in Rong Tian’s eyes but Feng Ming’s face? No, it is not there and he cannot for the life of him recall what he used to look like.

Feng Ming remembers bits and pieces of what he looked like. He knows he was plain because An He’s extraordinary beauty was a shock to him. He knows his hair was short because of how inconvenient and plain weird An He’s knee length black tresses were to him before he learnt the tricks of keeping it neat. His hair was not cut particularly neatly because as a student he couldn’t afford an expensive hair cut…especially not as a student who had been orphaned for some time. He knows his skin was not this pale but it was not tanned either. His skin bruised but the bruises were normal blotchy things that were dark before swiftly fading to green-yellow, they did not bloom into dark hand prints on his hips that stay for days and show where the slightest bit of force had been used on his body; his skin was far more resilient for all its imperfections as was his body, stronger and not given to melting into a kitten weakness under the hot kisses of arrogant tyrants.

This body isn’t virginal in any sense of the word, Feng Ming, who had never had a girlfriend in his life, awoke in this body and rapidly discovered how debauched a life An He lived, or rather he discovered the bruises and Rong Tian rudely filled in the blanks. He suspects Rong Tian gets a kick out of a lot of his reactions and wonders why the other isn't just as concerned by this sometimes. This is still An He’s body; does Rong Tian not look at him sometimes and see An He? Doesn’t the juxtaposition of An He’s experienced body and Feng Ming’s very inexperienced reactions make him pause or give him a uneasy feeling of this not being right?

Feng Ming’s mouth was not as plump as this, he knows it was an average mouth; nothing interesting about it, Rong Tian’s kisses would have bruised that mouth because it did not have the cushioning but then again he doubts Rong Tian would want to kiss a mouth like that. His eyes were dark yes but they were not this dark, not this inviting. Rong Tian seems to adore these eyes but they are not Feng Ming’s eyes despite Feng Ming’s spirit adding the fire to them that Rong Tian finds so attractive. He knows his eyebrows were thicker and he knows his nose was not this slender but when he tries to put all these pieces together he fails to build for himself a picture of what he looked like.

It is thoughts like this that keep him awake in the dead of night, ears tightly focused on the deep relaxed breathing of the larger body behind his, trapped against the mattress by the warm arm over his waist, the fingers of the hand attached to that arm dipping slightly between the gap of his clothes to caress skin idly. Warm breath on his neck isn’t enough to break him from the feeling he’s walking forwards underwater against a strong current when his insomnia is like this, feeling a million miles away from the people he talks to every day. There are frightening moments where suddenly the world doesn’t even feel real, he chokes on his food, stubs a toe, works his fingers till they cramp in order to perfect An He’s calligraphy or writhes under Rong Tian but when this feeling comes on there’s nothing he can do and nothing that can break through.

During those moments he’s left shaking, waiting for the curtain to fall and reveal the actors removing their makeup and costumes, for him to wake up suddenly in a hospital or in his room, Feng Ming dragging himself out of a highly detailed dream either way, possibly screaming as he does so. This has yet to eventuate and as the days continue to move from one to the next with no sudden leap back into modern reality, become months eventually, he experiences the terrifying moments less and less. He covers his lapses up, one tends to shake when one chokes, An He’s curiously breakable body makes stubbing a toe far more painful then he remembers, the same with a cramping hand and Rong Tian’s kisses? Well they are Rong Tian’s kisses. He is always going to shake from those.

It still bothers him that he cannot remember what he looked like. He suspects it will always bother him.


End file.
